On days when my lord groweth restless
And bored with his sword and his plume
His handmaiden hath what he needeth,
And what doth he need?-
- Rahadlakum!
On nights when my lord looketh listless
And black is the hue of his gloom
His handmaiden hath what he lacketh
And what doth he lack? -
- Rahadlakum!
'Tis sweet with the meat of the lichee nut
Combined with the kumquat rind,
The kind of confection
To drive a man out of
His Mesopotamian mind!
And lo, if my lord feeleth faithless
And roameth by night from his room
His handmaiden fanneth her fires
And out of the pan
Riseth a tantalizing perfume...
He scenteth the scent,
He turneth his face,
His previous place in her embrace
He does resume!
And love is in bloom
The while they consume
Rahadlakum!
Rahadlakum!